


The Garden

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Series: First Meetings [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-08 00:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10374261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: "They met every day in the garden. The same time, the same bench. They just talked."AU in which Sherlock and John meet in therapy.





	

John was sitting in the garden of the rehabilitation center, watching the people around him. It was a warm day in spring. He enjoyed the sunshine on his face and the fresh, mild air.  
_I’ve been here for three weeks now_ , he thought.  
Three weeks. A long time. And he did not believe that he would leave this place soon.  
Because the war was still his constant companion.  
Even now, he could see the terrible images before his eyes.  
_Screaming, running soldiers, blood in the sand, running, always running …_  
  
_It takes time_ , all his therapists said, again and again. _A lot of time. You must be patient._

Patience had never been one of John’s strengths.  
  
He sighed and looked to the left. There was a man sitting on a bench near him. A young, rather tall man, with pale skin and dark curls. He sat on the bench, straight and tense. His eyes stared straight ahead.  
John frowned. The man didn’t seem to feel very well.  
He suddenly remembered the advice of his therapists.  
_Talk to people_ , _John._ _It will help you. Talk to people and make a few friends_.  
Make friends.  
If only that was as easy as it sounds …  
  
He swallowed, and watched as the strange man scratched his arm restlessly.  
  
In the next moment, John moved almost without realising it.  
And suddenly, he stood before the man.  
“Hello, are you allright?” He asked hesitantly, and the other man looked up at him in surprise.  
“Oh, uhm, yes, thank you, I’m fine,” he said softly, and John knew immediately that he was lying.  
“I’m John,” he said, offering his hand. “John Watson, I’m here because of a war trauma.”  
The other man looked at him with an empty expression on his very pale face. Then he slowly took John’s hand and shook it.  
“Sherlock. Overdose. And they’re always trying to tell me I’m seriously traumatized because of a dumb, boring, secret MI6 mission, but I highly doubt that. They’re idiots.”

John swallowed and blinked. Overdose … secret MI6 mission. A name so strange that it sounded as if it came from a novel. A lot of stuff to process.  
_What now?_  
"Well, uh, Sherlock, would you like to … Have a tea with me?” He asked uncertainly, suddenly feeling strangely excited. His heart beat loudly in his chest.  
Sherlock looked at his feet for a moment, then he nodded slightly. “Yes, I … tea would be very nice.”  
  
And so it began  
  
*  
They met every day in the garden.  
The same time, the same bench.  
They just talked.  
John was surprised at how easy it was.  
Like … it was natural from the beginning.  
  
It was good.  
  
When they spoke, the shadow of the war seemed to vanish from him a little.  
For the first time since he had been brought back to England, he felt resolved. Peaceful. Calm.  
It was fascinating.  
  
_Sherlock_ was fascinating.  
  
He was a detective. More specifically, a consulting detective.  
He told John that the next day in the garden.  
He had invented the profession.  
John had to smile when Sherlock told him this so seriously, he sounded like a child who gave himself what he always wanted, because no one else could give it to him.  
  
In addition, Sherlock was a chemist, liked bees a lot and was convinced that cocaine helped him think. I’m a user, not an addict, he used to say with emphasis.  
  
John felt a mixture of fascination, amusement, and confusion, as he listened to Sherlock.  
After a while, he was aware that the first person he was talking to was a rather self-indulgent detective, who seemed to be very crazy in a strangely loveable way.  
  
John was thrilled.  
  
Their conversations became the highlight of his day. 

*

“How did it happen?”  
“What? Oh, that. Well, I was shot. ”  
“You were a doctor …”  
“It was when I accompanied a squad in the field. We got ambushed and I ended up in the line of fire.. these things happen now and again.”  
”…“  
  
*  
"How … this secret mission you have spoken of. Was it …”  
“It was not as bad as everyone says. I was undercover in a smuggling ring … ”  
“Drugs?”  
“Drugs and people.”  
“Jesus …”  
“I was about to dismantle the whole group when they found out. They tortured me and wanted to know who I was, where I came from and what I was doing. After a few days, my brother got me out. ”  
“God, Sherlock …”  
“Please, John. They beat me up a little, that was all. I am able to separate my mind and my body. I’m not traumatized. Bored to death describes my mood better … and sometimes I wish I had a little cocaine. Then, perhaps I could endure the talk of my therapists. ”  
“…”  
  
*  
“Well, you’re a detective. Do you have an assistant, too? ”  
“No. No, I have no assistant. I work alone. ”  
“Mmh. All the detectives I know of have an assistant. Or a dog! ”  
“You mean, detectives from novels.”  
“Yes, aren’t they real detectives?”  
“No.”  
“…”  
“To be honest, sometimes I think an assistant would not be so bad.”  
“Ah.”  
“For … notes. And research, you know? ”  
“Mmh.”  
“…”  
“…”  
“Could you imagine being my assistant?”  
“I … well, yes. It’s not like I have anything to do after I’m out of here. So yes. Why not.”  
“Good. that’s good. John. I think you would do well.”  
“Mmh. Maybe.”  
  
*  
“So, you met someone, didn’t you, John?” Ella, his psycho therapist asked and smiled.  
  
John sat on his bed and let his feet dangle. It was Wednesday. He had known Sherlock for a week now. It was not long, but it seemed to him that he had known him forever.  
He cleared his throat.  
“Yes. Uhm. His name is Sherlock. We get on well I think.”  
  
Ella wrote something in her notebook.  
She nodded slightly.  
“I know Sherlock. Well, I’ve heard of him. "She smiled. "I’m sure you will be good for each other.”  
  
*  
“By the way, do you have a girlfriend?”  
“Girlfriend? No. Not really my area. ”  
“Oh.”  
“…”  
“Then … do you have a boyfriend?”  
“No.”  
“That’s all right, by the way.”  
“I know it’s all right.”  
“…”  
“John … I want you to know … I am, so to speak, married to my work. I feel flattered, but … ”  
“Oh. No, no I didn’t mean it like that. No. Everything is good. Just as it is. ”  
“Good. Thank you.”  
“…" 

*  
On a Sunday in the garden, John noticed how much he liked Sherlock’s smile.  
And his eyes. How they began to shine when Sherlock was talking about something that inspired him. How they changed color. Silver green in sunlight, to pale blue when clouds hid the sun.  
He also liked Sherlock’s soft hair.  
Everything. He liked everything about Sherlock.  
_Damn._  
He was falling in love with him.  
  
John couldn’t decide how he felt about it.  
Was it ridiculous.  
Was it possible.  
  
Was it a dream.  
  
Who would have thought that life would take such a turn.  
John lay in his bed that evening grinning at the ceiling.  
His stomach tingled quietly.  
_My God, I’m not a teenager_ , he thought, snorting. But still he felt excited, light, in love.  
_Sherlock probably has no interest at all._  
He said that he’s married to his work.  
  
Still …  
  
Still there was something, something promising. 

*

The next day, Sherlock was not in the garden.  
  
John stared at the empty bench, frowning, and immediately thoughts were racing through his head.  
_He has gotten bored of me._  
I said something wrong or did something stupid.  
Did he realize that … something is different.  
I screwed up … With my questions.  
Have I ruined it?  
  
He sat down on the bench and waited a little.  
People went past him. Patients with their relatives. Nurses and doctors.  
Sherlock didn’t come.  
Instead, Ella came by.  
"John,” she said, sitting down beside him. “Are you waiting for Sherlock?”  
John nodded. He looked down at his feet. “He should … I don’t know … I thought …”  
He brought no sentence to an end and felt pathetic.  
Ella looked at him and shook her head. “I think there is a reason he isn’t here. And I don’t think that you’re the reason, John. Why don’t you go in and ask if you can visit him in his room? ”  
“Oh,” John said, feeling a little stupid. “That … I didn’t even think about that. Thank you.”  
He got up, and went into the building.  
At the reception sat a young, brunette woman. She smiled at him as he stood in front of her, scratching his chin nervously.  
“How can I help you?”  
“Uhm, I’m looking for Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. ”  
She nodded, looking through a folder in front of her.  
“Room 221. On the third floor. Mmh, it says that he had a bad panic attack this morning. They had to give him something. He might be asleep.”  
“Oh. Oh, "John said, swallowing hard.  
  
_A panic attack …_  
  
In the last few days he had almost forgotten that Sherlock had also suffered a trauma.  
Immediately, sorrow and a strong need to protect Sherlock rised in him.  
"You can go to him. He’s in the open ward after all. Shall I call someone to take you there?”  
“No. No, I’ll find it myself,” muttered John, and he was already running.  
__  
Sherlock …  
  
*  
Sherlock’s room was very quiet.  
John hesitantly stepped in, after he had knocked on the door, and swallowed.  
Sherlock was lying in bed, his blanket pulled over his head. Curled up like a cat.  
Everything John could see of him was a bunch of tangled curls on the pillow.  
But he could hear Sherlock breathing. Heavy and slow. So slow.  
John went to the bed. Involuntarily, he went there on his tiptoes. As quietly as possible.  
He sat down on the chair next to the bed.  
He bit his lip.  
Scratched his arm restlessly.  
Sherlock moved slightly under the blanket.  
  
_Is he awake?_  
  
“Hello Sherlock,” John said after a brief hesitation. “How are you. I missed you in the garden. ”  
For a moment, it was quiet.  
Then Sherlock said very softly, “John.”  
He turned in the bed until he was looking at John. His face was paler than usual. John could see tracks of tears on it. The sight made his heart ache. “Hi,” he said with a crooked smile.  
Sherlock blinked.  
He sighed.  
“I … I’m sorry I wasn’t in the garden.”  
“No. Don’t be sorry, "John said quickly. "Uhm. A panic attack? ”  
“Yes. My stupid head doesn’t do what it is supposed to do,” Sherlock said bitterly. “It’s … so stupid. So stupid. It’s over. It’s past and gone. Why … why am I still afraid?” He asked, his voice shaking slightly, and John suddenly saw new tears in Sherlock’s eyes. His stomach clenched. He felt pain for Sherlock’s pain.  
“Why can’t I … why am I so pathetic,” concluded Sherlock, unable to suppress a sob.  
  
Pathetic. That was something John knew very well. That exact feeling.  
  
And the next moment, he was beside Sherlock in the bed.  
Took him into his arms.  
Drawing him to him.  
First, Sherlock was frozen. Frozen in shock? Frozen with astonishment?  
After a few seconds, his body became more compliant. He laid his head on John’s shoulder and sighed.  
“You can let go,” whispered John in Sherlock’s ear. “You can … you’re human. We are human. We have experienced things that no one should experience. We are scared. We are allowed to be scared. And to be weak. That’s not a bad thing. I’m here to help you if you let me. You’ve been helping me for days. You … I feel like we’ve known each other for so long … ”  
He felt Sherlock’s body begin to shake.  
He felt wetness on his shoulder.  
Tears. Sherlock was crying.  
John hugged him even tighter.  
“I’m glad I found you here. I am so happy. I’ll take care of you. Please let me do that. Please let … I want to be there for you. ”  
Sherlock nodded at his shoulder. John felt him smile, and smiled himself.  
And then he whispered in Sherlock’s ear,  
  
“I’ve fallen in love with you.” 

There’s a moment of silence. And then Sherlock whispered back,

“I didn’t dare to hope … I didn’t … I think, no, I’m sure … I’m in love with you too, John.”

“Well, look at us. We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” John said playfully and Sherlock snorted a laugh. 

They held each other for an eternity.  
Two men. Lost and found.  
Their hearts now united forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Corrected by [bakerstreet-irregular](http://bakerstreet-irregular.tumblr.com/).  
> Visit me on [Tumblr](http://currently-in-my-mind-palace.tumblr.com/) for more! :)


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